


Family Business

by kronette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://ignipes.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://ignipes.livejournal.com/"></a><b>ignipes</b>,  who wanted "an AU in which the Winchesters are master jewel thieves. I want heists!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Business

Dean nodded thoughtfully at the floor plan spread out on the hotel table. Sam and John were seated around the table, making tick marks with pencils at points of interest. 

“Security cameras are here, here and _here_ ,” John remarked, noting each with a small circle.

“Guards will be posted at all the back and side entrances, plus rooftop security, so the only way in is the front door,” Sam added with a smirk.

“Good thing that’s how I’m going in,” Dean commented dryly, sitting in the remaining chair. He folded his arms on the table, studying the layout one more time. It was one of their bolder ideas: infiltrating the Shrine Auditorium on the day of the Emmy broadcast. The plan was that Dean would get on the guest list, courtesy of an expert forged invitation from John, make the rounds, and slip out with nearly $5 million in jewels. 

“You honestly think you can palm five mil in an hour?” Sam asked, eyes both taunting and daring. 

“That’s the bet,” Dean confirmed, leaning back and taking in the panoramic view. It wasn’t quite the penthouse, but even the 20th floor of the Sheraton Los Angeles offered a damn nice view.

“Lay off your brother,” John said, shooting Sam a warning glare. 

Dean smirked at Sam, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing his brother could do about it. Rules were rules; Dean had taken the dare from their father, and both he and Sam had to help with the planning. Once inside, Dean was on his own. He was confident that with the amount of swank and pomp, he’d have no trouble slipping off a necklace here and there. Hell, two might even put him over the top. Hadn’t some actress worn a five million dollar _dress_ one year, made of diamonds? He could have had that, easy. 

This heist was half a year in planning, and the stakes were indeed high. How many people have attempted to rob someone on live television? Cameras and paparazzi would be literally everywhere, not to mention the personal bodyguards that some of the celebs would undoubtedly have. A shiver of anticipation coiled around his spine. This was the highest stake game he’d played, and that alone was a rush. 

The truth was, any of them could have pulled this off – fit in with the glitter and glam, passed themselves off as producers or directors – after all, dad looked good for a man in his late 40s, and Sam had the boyish good looks. But it was _Dean’s_. 

“Dean, did your suit arrive yet?” John asked, rising from his chair and walking to the windows. 

His eyes fell to the layout again, though he had the entire Auditorium memorized. “Came back this morning, pressed and ready to go,” he assured his father. “Cufflinks were dropped off, too.” Much like the sappy _Pretty Woman_ , hotels were eager to suck up to the affluent. Dean had made but one phone call and diamond-studded jewelry was placed into his palm. It couldn’t count toward the bet, but he needed to look the part. 

Dean had forgone a limo after reviewing previous Emmy telecasts. The line of black and white cars that clogged the streets before the telecast was staggering. He couldn’t afford to get caught in that mess, delayed from his careful time schedule. 

He noted the time on his watch and rose from his chair again, ignoring the scathing look from Sam. “Gentlemen, it’s time for my close-up.” 

=-=-=-=-=

The bustle on the red carpet was just getting interesting when Dean arrived. He was decked to the nines in an Armani tux, the Bob Mackie links and a choice pink diamond ring. The designer shades were practical as well as helped him blend in, though he doubted anyone would notice him. Stars lined up for their turn at the TV crews, while “lesser” lay people weaved their way through the tangle of dresses. 

He couldn’t help but flash a smile here and there, and grinned at the sudden burst of screams from the bleachers he caused. He was no one, _literally_ , and yet the clueless believed because he was there, he was important. Who was he to deny the masses? 

His stomach fluttered the tiniest bit as he neared the entrance. He noted the earpieces in the burly guards, the overhead cams and could feel other hidden devices watching him. The trucks parked in the back “hidden” area weren’t just for the television broadcast; some of them were surveillance. 

As his hand slipped into his jacket to retrieve the carefully forged invitation, a tall blonde settled her hand on his forearm. 

He covered his surprise smoothly. “My lady?” He bowed slightly and tucked her arm under his. 

She giggled and swayed a bit, and he had to hide his smirk. A drunk somebody was about to help him buy his way inside this party. He presented both their invitations, but the guard barely glanced at them, just ushered them inside. 

Dean flashed the woman a smile, absently noting the glazed, wide eyes, and couldn’t help but slip one of her rings off – never the wedding band – the one with the nice sized ruby. Maybe $500,000.

Turning and forgetting the woman, he began his prowl. He was down five minutes already, and the crowds were getting thicker. He removed his shades and let himself adjust to the light differential. Clusters of chatty celebs and other notables were assessed quickly, and Dean ambled toward his first selection. He snagged a champagne flute on his way over, nodding and smiling at those he passed, finally selecting someone enough outside the circle to start talking to. 

Soon, he was sharing laughter and horror stories about casting directors, budget restraints, MPAA restrictions, and other nonsense. Dean had some idea of what he was speaking; he _did_ do research before these type of jobs, after all. And if the redhead in the shimmery green dress would notice her broach missing soon? It would never occur to her to question her commiserating friend.

At least a million was what he assessed the broach, and seven more minutes passed. 

He was utterly cool as he walked to his next challenge. Nuzzling the woman’s throat and laughing into her skin, he substituted her necklace for a fake one from his pocket. “Sorry,” he murmured as his deft fingers unsnapped the diamond-and-sapphire creation and replaced it with one that had similar weight. The unsuspecting woman wouldn’t notice any difference until she either looked in a mirror or slid a hand up to touch it. He was gone before either could happen. 

Eleven minutes, and he was positive Sam could get nearly $2 million for the stunning necklace. 

$3.5 million down, $1.5M to go.

Twelve minutes later, he had at least a million dollar necklace in an inside pocket, and a look of concern as he helped the distraught actress try to locate her missing necklace. As he brushed by another actress, he palmed an emerald and diamond bracelet, which put him squarely over the $5 million mark. 

He had fifteen minutes to extract himself from the crowds and make his way outside. The clock didn’t stop ticking until he removed himself from the playing field. 

It was about an hour to show time, and peering through the windows, he could see the crowds outside were definitely more insane than they had been. He smiled amicably, continuing his role as industry friend as he passed by the guards. He walked behind celebrities, hands gentle against their back as he murmured jokes and wild stories of what was going on inside. They laughed, he laughed and continued on until he was near enough the edge to slip off the carpet and away from the constantly-watching eyes.

Nodding at other tuxedo-wearing, ballgown-swishing people heading in the opposite direction, he nearly missed the cat-call whistle from one of the outside cafes. 

Sam and John were similarly attired in tuxedos, but not the high-end Armani line. “Gentlemen,” Dean said as he indicated to the waiter he would be joining the table. “Rum and coke, please.” 

“Fifty-eight minutes, you fucker,” Sam growled under his breath.

“Language,” John chided him softly as he cast a wary glance around. 

Dean shifted his sleeves as he rested his folded hands on the table. “What’s the next move?”

“FedEx package sent to drop #3,” John quietly instructed, sipping his Scotch. “We take in the touristy sights tomorrow, maybe do a bit of shopping on Rodeo, then catch an early evening flight out of Burbank.”

Dean nodded his approval. Drop #3 was nearest to Caleb, an expert jewelry handler. Once the jewels were removed from their settings, they would be sent to another location, where the Winchesters would retrieve the package. Then, Sam would do his magic, and the money wired into three separate Swiss bank accounts. 

Dean’s drink arrived and he took a sip, letting the alcohol warm his tongue. “So, little brother, ready for your turn?” he asked, smooth as silk, but his eyes were hard. Sibling rivalry went deep when millions of dollars and their reputations were on the line. 

Civility held Sam’s tongue, but Dean felt his stare carve through his head. 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Sam adjusted his collar one more time, then straightened the small bow tie. The formal tuxedo with tails was new, and he wanted it to feel like a second skin. It wouldn’t do to fidget at a debutante ball, especially when he was going for a cool four million in under two hours. The time was extended from the original hour when the schedule breakdown was reviewed. 

This was a private, family event that noted to the minute when things needed to happen. And against Dean’s protests, John sided with Sam that it would be near impossible to run their usual mingle-chat-and-run. Formalities needed to be observed.

The fact that Sam was escorting one of the debutante’s court added enough layers of difficulty without imposing a too-restrictive time limit. The point of these heists was that they actually _accomplished_ the stealing of jewels. Without that monetary reward, they were just breaking, entering and stealing food. 

The Winchesters were anything but poor and starving. 

Sam smirked and flipped the tails, frowning at the too-short jacket. He tugged the sleeves down, but they stayed above his wrists. “Damn it,” he muttered, removing the jacket and tie. 

“Something wrong there, Sam?” John asked as Sam entered the common area of the suite. 

“The jacket sleeves are too short. I’m going down to get a bigger size.” The boutique was in the hotel off the lobby, so he didn’t have far to travel. A smile, a slight southern drawl, and charm dripping from his tongue had him in a fitted jacket within the hour, along with profuse apologies. 

People were so gullible. 

Especially his clueless family. 

Did they honestly expect him to continue this life? Hell, he had well over twenty million in his account; he didn’t _need_ more. The thrill was gone, to quote a cliché. Challenges didn’t make his heart beat faster. Tighter rules didn’t raise the stakes. Annoyances only, delays to the inevitable conclusion of the jewelry in his hands. 

What does a jewel thief do when the mere thought of the next heist bores him? 

He gets out before he gets sloppy, that’s what. Tonight, Sam was going to do just that.

=-=-=-=-=-=

As Sam got dressed, Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched him in the mirror. Sam tried to ignore the look on his brother’s face, but it was so out of place, he couldn’t ignore it. Dean had never shown worry in his life.

“Dean?” he asked, turning to look at his brother instead of his reflection. 

“I know what you’re planning,” Dean said quietly, fingers twined together between his knees. “I know you want out.” 

The flash of emotion that Sam couldn’t control was enough for Dean, and Sam felt a bit sick as Dean shook his head.

“You know I can’t let you leave.” 

Sam didn’t bother to lie. “We all know how to disappear, Dean. If you try to stop me, it will draw attention to us; attention you can’t afford.” 

Dean switched tactics without missing a beat. “Have you thought what this will do to Dad?”

He snorted. “The only thing Dad will miss is the extra pair of hands. Come on, Dean. When’s the last time he put himself at risk? We’re just doing his work for him, as he sits back and rakes in the cash.” 

Dean rose to his feet. “That’s not what this is about.” He forced Sam back a step. “We’re a team. We’re a family. You can’t just _leave_ me. Us,” he hastily corrected. 

Sam chose to ignore the slip and implication. “We’ve got all this money. What are you planning to do with it? When are we going to _spend_ it? What’s the point of getting it if we’re not going to use it?” 

To his delight, Dean looked uncertain. “We’ve got some good years left in us…”

He cut his brother off with an annoyed noise. “Dean, you’re not hearing me. I want to see the world. Don’t you want to get out there, see what’s waiting for us?”

The horrified stare was priceless. “What, just take off? Make our way across country on some road trip?”

He scoffed. “No, not in a car. _Planes_. Travel to other countries. Haven’t you ever wanted to see the Great Wall? Buckingham Palace? South Africa? Europe? Hell even Mexico is looking good. Anywhere but _here_ , doing _this_ over and over again.” 

Dean blinked at him, and Sam was astonished to see tears in his eyes. “You really hate this life that much?”

He scrubbed at his face, willing the tension to go away. “No, Dean, I don’t hate it. I’m just _tired_. This isn’t fun for me anymore; it’s _work_.”

“Of course it’s _work_ ; if everyone could do it, then…well, they would!” Dean fumbled, his normal calm façade crumbling before Sam. 

Sam didn’t know what to make of it. Dean was _always_ polished; _always_ precise in his words. To see him shaken like this…”You’re scared,” Sam concluded, startled to notice Dean’s flinch and badly schooled expression. How far was Dean off his game?

“Don’t be stupid,” was Dean’s lame retort

Sam’s guts twisted as his own fear took hold. “No, I’m right. What are you scared of? I’m not turning myself in, and I’d never do that to you. You know that, right?” 

Dean nodded, though he dragged his lower lip between his teeth. 

“So what is it?” he prodded. 

Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What am I gonna do without you?” 

He couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. “Dean, you’re twenty-seven years old. You don’t need me for anything. You never have. I’m just your annoying little brother. I thought you’d be glad to get me out of your hair.” 

He absently noted Dean’s expression darken. “You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that? Dad taught us everything he knows. We’ve survived this life because of him, and you want out because your _tired_. What about what I want? Ever consider that I may not like this life?”

Sam couldn’t help it; he snorted back a laugh. “Please. You love this.” 

“Do I?” 

And Sam _looked_ at Dean, saw the fine lines around his eyes, saw the weariness lurking in the green eyes. Something inside twisted again, and he found himself saying, “You coming with, then?” 

A wide, dark smile changed Dean’s expression from weary to anticipatory. “Let’s do this.” 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Brilliant sunlight reflected off the clear water, causing Sam to wince. He reached for his sunglasses and slipped them on, settling his lanky frame back in the lounge chair. He heard Dean’s laughter drifting up from the shoreline, where he was learning to surf from a local. _She_ just happened to be a redhead bombshell. 

Sam happened to prefer blondes. He rolled his head to the side, smiling at Katarina. “Hey, you want to swim for a bit?” he asked. 

She stretched, arching her back to give him a very good idea of what activity she wanted to participate in. “I believe this sun is too bright. I’m going inside. Do you want to join me?”

Sam’s chuckle was low and dirty. Katarina was hardly subtle; it was one of the reasons they got along so well. “I’ll be there in a second. Just want to let Dean know where I’ll be.” 

Her dark eyes flicked to his brother, just as he fell off the board and came back up spluttering and laughing. “I don’t think he’ll notice you’re gone.” 

Sam watched his brother shake his head, sending water everywhere, the smile more bright than the sun. “You know, I think you’re right.” He gathered his things, slid them back into the bag, and followed Katarina up to their beach house. Life was good. 

Life on the Mediterranean was way better.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 24 September 2006 @ 07:56 pm.
> 
> For images of the Winchesters in their "work" clothes: 
> 
> <http://desiring-jensen.org/photos/albums/gallery/Events/2006/09th%20Jan%20-%2011th%20Annual%20Critics%20Choice%20Awards/042.jpg>
> 
> <http://www.gilmoregirls.org/screencaps/episode206/35.jpg>


End file.
